


My Love is Like a Storybook Story (But It's As Real As The Feelings I Feel)

by LifeLover



Category: Actor RPF, Irish Actor RPF, Princess Bride (1987), Scottish Actor RPF, X-Men: First Class (2011) RPF
Genre: F/M, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, cheesy romantic love, film fest au
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-05-08
Updated: 2013-10-14
Packaged: 2017-12-10 20:07:35
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 7,085
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/789651
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LifeLover/pseuds/LifeLover
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This is true love. Think this happens everyday?  The Princess Bride with with James, the most beautiful boy in all the land and Michael the farm boy.  Want to read this?  As you wish.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. James and Michael

**Author's Note:**

  * For [luninosity](https://archiveofourown.org/users/luninosity/gifts).



> Gifted to luninosity. I love The Princess Bride, so ... why not? I hope you like.

Once, in a far away land called Florin, lived a country lad named James.  James was – quite frankly – beautiful.  Slim with rose-petal skin and messy, uncontrollable brown hair.  Graceful hands with faint calluses from riding his horse and red-gold freckles that streaked across the skin like constellations.  The most striking thing about James though – were his eyes. Blue, blue eyes that shone like the sky.  Sometimes, not often, but sometimes – those skies would cloud over, the lakes stirred.

 

When that would happen, James would go to Michael, the farm boy.  Michael, his friend.  Michael was muscled and tanned.  Blonde-brown hair and a shark-like grin and blue-green-grey eyes.  Eyes like the sea after a storm.  James would find Michael, tingles running along his nerves and Michael would stop whatever he was doing and hold him.  Would wrap him securely into an embrace with those large, warm callused hands.  One would him firmly, resting on James’ hip, arm closed around his back.  The other would wind its way into the map of hair, rubbing soothingly, chasing ginger strands.  Would allow James to breathe in and out, in and out, trying to regain his balance.  Security in an emotional storm.

 

Michael, naturally didn’t talk much, but one thing was always certain.  Whenever James asked him for something (vocally or wordlessly) Michael would simply answer with “As you wish.”  It took a while before James realized whenever Michael said that, he was really saying “I love you.”  And it was a while more until the day when James realized he truly loved him back.

 

It wasn’t a special day.  No comfort needed, no extreme weather, no unusual action.  Michael had simply come in to deposit more logs by the chimney.  James, turning to look at him had thought, a fond ache in his chest, “god, I love you.”  And then he realized.

 

“Michael?”

 

Stopping, Michael turned around and lifted one eloquent eyebrow in silent question.  James, glancing around saw a hanging pitcher by his head.

 

“Fetch that pitcher. Please”

 

Silently, Michael walked towards him, coming to stand close in front of him. So close. James itched to reach out and touch. Never breaking their gaze, he reached up and unhooked the pitcher.  He brought it down, eyes warm as he murmured gently “As you wish.”  James wasn’t sure who moved first, but suddenly they were kissing, pitcher rolling to rest a few feet away.  And it was perfect.

 

Of course, reality wasn’t so simple.  After a while Michael, determined to properly provide for James, set off to make his fortune.  While on the seas, news came his ship had been attacked by the Dread Pirate Roberts, who was known to never leave survivors.  James was inconsolable.  He finally, after a long time, began to smile again. Began to enjoy life.  But the innocence of first love had been lost.  Some natural happiness had gone, leaving almost unnoticeable cracks in the blue walls to his soul.  Staring the bed they had shared,  James made a solemn announcement.

 

“I will never love again.”


	2. Poor Lost Circus Performers

Three years later, the main city of Florin was filled as never before, to hear the announcement of the great Prince Humperdinck's bride-to-be.  Because of the Prince's preferences, this heir's bride was male.  As people milled about the main courtyard, men blew a fanfare on their trumpets and the crowd hushed.  Prince Humperdinck stood on the balcony of the castle flanked by his right-hand man and best friend, Count Rugen.  He calmly announced the wedding in a month's time, on the sundown of Florin's 500th anniversary, finishing with “...my people – the prince James!”

 

James walked out onto the carpet and as everyone knelt in front of him, his emptiness consumed him, his heart's dull ache flaring back up into a sharp pain from where it had been throbbing ever since Michael had died.  Although the law of the land gave Humperdinck the right to choose his bride, James did not love him. Although Humperdinck assured him that James would grow to love him, the only joy James felt was in his daily ride.

 

Of course, it didn't help that Count Rugen was jealous of him.  Quite a few times, James had caught Count Rugen gazing at Humperdinck when the Prince couldn't see him.  James didn't like the Count, yet he could not help but pity him.  He recognized that look on the Count's face.  One of frustration and desire.  Lust and a small (very small) twist of perceptible fondness.  Smirks and sorrow.  Yes, James knew what Rugen felt for his prince and currently, James was in the way. It made his daily ride of escape all the more precious.

 

One day as James was riding in the woods he pulled short by three men standing in a row, evidently in order of height.  One was a short, funny man who was bald with small tufts of hair on the side of his head, small blue eyes darting away from her gaze.  Though his leggings and boots were travel-wear, he wore a velvet, fancy top unlike the other two, who wore practical clothing completely. There was a small dagger tucked into his belt. The middle man was a Spaniard. Lean and tall, he had a smooth black moustache and wavy black hair that came down to his shoulders. He wore a brown vest to match his leggings and boots over his shirt and hanging on his hip was a sword.  The last man was a veritable giant.  Standing a foot taller than the Spaniard,  his curly brown hair had sideburns growing onto his craggy face that yet, seemed to hold gentleness and innocence in its features. He simply wore a large gray shirt with a belt around his middle and plain pants and boots.  The first man spoke:

 

“My Lord, we are but poor lost circus performers. Is there a village nearby?”

 

“There is nothing nearby,” James replied, feeling bad. “Not for miles.”

 

“Then there will be no one to hear you scream,” the short man said with a small sinister smile as the giant stepped up to James, who opened his mouth but was unable to say anything before he felt a large hand on his neck and everything went black.

 

~~~

 

“What is that you're ripping?” the Spaniard, whose name was Inigo Montoya, called across to their leader, Vizzini who was currently next to James' horse.  James was unconscious, being carried by the giant, Fezzik.

 

“It's fabric from an army uniform of Guilder,” Vizzini answered distractedly. Fezzik's head turned around.  “Who's Guilder?”

 

“The country across the sea!” Vizzini looked exasperated. “The sworn enemy of Florin! Go!” He slapped the horse's rump and sent it running.  Walking up the small plank to their boat, he continued. “The uniform will make the Prince suspect the Guilderians are responsible for his bride missing.  When they find his body dead on the Guilder frontier, his suspicions will be confirmed,” he finished smugly.

 

Fezzik, now by the steering wheel looked torn. “You never said anything about killing anyone.”

 

“I've hired you to help me start a war. It's a long and glorious tradition!”

 

“I just don't think it's right,” Fezzik said quietly, “killing an innocent young lad.”

 

Vizzini's expression darkened. “Am I going mad?  Or did the word ' _think_ ' escape your lips? You were **not** hired for your brains!”

 

“I agree with Fezzik,” Inigo said, leaping over the side onto the boat.  He _had_ killed people and would always have to live with that, but he knew his boyfriend never killed anyone if he could help it.  Fezzik was truly a gentle giant and on his behalf, Inigo felt Vizzini could have at least warned them. As Vizzini turned towards him though, saying “Oh, the sot has spoken!” he knew it was too late.  They had roused Vizzini's ire, and a good dressing down (read: verbal abuse) would follow.  Which it did.  Vizzini started with Inigo, then stalked down the stairs to berate poor Fezzik.  It was the typical tirade specifying Inigo's drinking problems (to cover his nightmares of what he'd done and his failure so far to exact vengeance for his father's murder.  The drinking abated when on a job or sleeping with Fezzik) and pure virulent abuse for Fezzik, essentially calling him a freak and threatening to send him back to Greenland all alone (which Fezzik lived in terror of, never wanting to be alone). “Perverts” and “faggots” were sprinkled aplenty in there as well.

 

As Vizzini stalked off to to one side of the boat, Fezzik silently watched him go, hurt showing in everything about him.  Inigo slowly stood up and quietly made his way down the small set of stairs to Fezzik's side, feeling a tug at his heart.  Beautiful, kind Fezzik who bruised so easily.  He was able to just hear the tirade and let it roll off his back, but Fezzik couldn't help but take it to heart.  All his vulnerable points pricked, blood drawn.  Setting a sympathetic hand on Fezzik's arm, he said mildly, “Vizzini, he can _fuss_.”

 

“Fuss, fuss,” Fezzik replied thoughtfully, relaxing slightly. “I think he like to scream _at us_.”

 

“Probably he means no _harm_ ,” Inigo continued. Fezzik finished with “But he's certainly very short on _charm_.”

 

“You have a great gift for rhyme,” Inigo said smiling as Fezzik begin to steer the boat.  Fezzik grinned back at him, gratitude shining from his eyes.  “Yes, yes, some other time.”

 

“Enough of that!” Vizzini snapped as Inigo began to help steer.  Of course they continued, it being too much fun to get back at Vizzini.

 

Later on, as Vizzini strutted around crowing in front of a newly awoken James,  Fezzik stood next to where Inigo was sitting on the other end of the boat and murmured, “I don't want to go back to Greenland, Inigo.”

 

Inigo ran his knuckles down the other's cheek softly, missing the small glance James gave them. “That won't happen.  And if needs must, I'll go with you.  You're not alone, Fezzik.”  Fezzik swallowed the lump in his throat and nodded wordlessly, smiling.  He made his way down to stand by James, who was sitting quietly, coral riding outfit rumpled.  Vizzini was sitting across from him, relaxing.  After a few minutes, he spoke up.

 

“We'll reach the Cliffs by dawn.”  Inigo nodded and turned his head back to look out over the water.

 

“Why are you doing that?”

 

“Making sure nobody's following us” he replied with a shrug.  Vizzini smiled.  “That would be inconceivable.”

 

“Despite what you think,” James said calmly, “you will be caught.  And when you are, the Prince will see all the leaders hanged.”  He hadn't missed the small exchange that had happened earlier, and felt pretty sure the other two were just following orders. “Of all the necks on the boat, Highness” Vizzini said menacingly, “the one you should be worried about is your own.”  James turned to look toward where Inigo was sitting, having learned their names during Vizzini's small speech at him before.  He shivered inwardly, feeling hollow and lonely.  Wishing Michael was alive to hold him, wishing Michael was simply alive to get him out of this Catch-22 situation.  Inigo met his gaze, eyes sympathetic before turning back around.

 

“Stop doing that!” Vizzini snapped. “You are sure nobody's following us?”  “As I told you before, it would be in all ways inconceivable. Out of curiosity, why do you ask?”

 

“Oh,” Inigo said mildly, “I just happened to look behind us and something is there.”

 

“WHAT!” yelped Vizzini, rushing to stand next to Inigo.  Looking out over the moonlit sea, they could see a small boat sailing behind them.  “Probably just a local fisherman,” Vizzini tried to bluff, “out through a pleasure cruise through eel-infested waters.”  A splash drew their attention and looking, they saw James swimming through the water with clear strokes.  “Go in, after him!” Vizzini yelled at  Inigo, who shrugged. “I don't swim.”  “I only dog-paddle” Fezzik said simply.  “Gaaah!” yelled Vizzini, rushing to the side of the boat. “Veer left!” he instructed Inigo who was manipulating the sail. “Left!”  Fezzik murmured and pointed something out to his boss as an eerie shriek split the air.  James stopped, keeping himself afloat in place.  “Do you know what those sounds are?” Vizzini said smugly.  “Those are the Shrieking Eels. If you don't believe me, just wait.  They always grow louder when they're about to feed on human flesh!”  A wet, slimy body slid past James,  bumping into him.  Gasping, James tried not to swallow sea water.  Vizzini continued “If you come back now, I _promise,_ no harm will come to you.  I doubt you'll get such an offer from the eels.”  As Vizzini spoke, the eel turned and slid closer and closer to James.  Closer and closer …

 

Just before the eel could get him, a giant fist came out of nowhere and bopped the eel on the snout, turning it away, then lifting up James and setting him down gently on the deck to Vizzini's “Put him down! Just put him down!”  Inigo pointed out “I think he's getting closer.”  “It's no concern of ours. Sail on!” Vizzini groused.  He turned to James.  “I suppose you think you're pretty brave, don't you?”

 

“Only compared to some.”  James replied steadily, though through chattering teeth.  Vizzini huffed in disgust and went off into his small cabin to get some sleep.  Fezzik and Inigo took over getting James dry and in a spare change of clothes while his riding outfit dried and he gradually dozed off.   He woke up to Fezzik shaking him gently,  helping him back into his now dry riding outfit.  “Don't let Vizzini see.  Here ...” he said giving James some cheese he kept warm.  “Thank you … Fezzik,” James said quietly.  As he ate,  Inigo (who was dozing) shifted slightly with a small whimper and Fezzik went over to him and replaced the travel-blanket gently around him, letting his hand stay over his chest to feel his heart.  James said quietly when he came back over to fix one of the ropes, “You really love him, don't you?”  Fezzik smiled fondly.  “Yes. Inigo is … everything to me.”  James nodded thoughtfully.   After a while, Inigo woke up and gave James some fresh water.    James had thankfully finished his cheese when Vizzini came out of the cabin.  Gradually, the sun came up and as the dawn fully bloomed, they could see that the fishing boat was right behind them.  “Look, he's right on top of us,” Inigo said amazed.  “I wonder if he's using the same wind we're using.”

 

“Whoever he is, he's too late. See!” Vizzini pointed, a maniacal grin on his face. “The Cliffs of Insanity!” (what a perfect match of person and place …)

 

 

 

 To Be Continued …...


	3. Cliffs Of Insanity

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Cliffs are climbed, the word "inconceivable" is used, (Does it mean what he thinks it means?) and the greatest duel since Errol Flynn and Burt Lancaster occurs.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Un-beta'd, so any mistakes are mine. Feel free to point them out. I know it's been a long time, but here's the next chapter and tomorrow morning I should have at least two more chapters. Enjoy!

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

 

“Hurry up!” Vizzini cried, pacing. “Move – the thing! And – that other thing.  Move it!”

 

The boat sailed up to a small piece of land, the four of them getting off to stand at the base of the cliffs, a rope end dangling down.  “We're safe,” Vizzini crowed as they all got into the harnesses that attached them to Fezzik. “Only Fezzik is strong enough to go our way.”

 

They started climbing and James closed his eyes, not wanting to see them go higher and higher.  He'd always had a problem with heights.  As they climbed, the other ship came around.  Jumping off the still moving ship, the man dressed all in black grabbed the rope and started climbing up after them.  Inigo observed this as well as the fact that he was gaining on them.

 

“Inconceivable,” murmured Vizzini.   They kept climbing and soon Vizzini started grumbling at Fezzik.

 

“Well,” Fezzik pointed out logically, “I'm carrying three people and he's got only himself.”  His voice coming a bit breathlessly.   At a particularly sheer part of the cliff, Vizzini yelled “Did I make it clear that your **job** is at stake.” (not their lives?)

 

At last, they reached the top, Inigo clambering up and then helping James up and over to a sandy step to rest.  James concentrated on breathing in and out, fighting off a sense of vertigo as Vizzini, once stable, immediately went and started cutting through the rope.  Inigo in the meanwhile, helped Fezzik onto the top of the cliff.  And all the while, the man in black was steadily climbing.  Finally, the rope slithered off the cliff and Fezzik and Inigo went to look and see how things stood.  The man in black, holding on to the cliff face, turned his head to look up at them.

 

“He's got very good arms,” Fezzik remarked to Inigo. Vizzini stalked over, his hand still holding the dagger, which he gestured with. “He didn't fall? Inconceivable!”

 

Inigo looked at him.  “You keep using that word. I do not think it means what you think it means.”  Their attention was drawn back as the man in black started to try to climb, to Inigo's awed murmur of “my god, he's climbing.”

 

Vizzini immediately took charge.  “Whoever he is, he has seen us with the Prince's bride and must therefore die. You,” pointing to Fezzik, “carry him.”  He then turned to Inigo. “We'll head straight for the Guilder frontier. If he falls fine, if not the sword.” He stalked off, and with a last look at the man clinging to the cliff, Inigo followed saying, “I'm going to do him left-handed.”

 

Vizzini whirled around.  “You know what a hurry we're in!”  Inigo shrugged, calmly. “It's the only way I can be satisfied.  If I use my right, it'll be over too quickly.”  Vizzini exhaled in disgust “Oh have it your way!” and stomped off.

 

As Inigo looked down, Fezzik patted him on the shoulder.  “You be careful.  People in masks cannot be  trusted.” Inigo nodded slightly. “I'm waiting!” came to them.  Fezzik looked toward Vizzini then back at his friend. “Inigo ….”

 

Inigo reached up to cup his cheek, leading it down and kissing Fezzik's lips gently.  “I'll rejoin you all soon. Now go.  No point having him mad at you.”  Fezzik nodded and holding James' bound hands carefully led him towards Vizzini.

 

As they left, Inigo practiced his movements for a little before going to the cliff edge and calling down to the man. “Hello, there! Slow going?”

 

The man shifted his hold slightly and replied back dryly, “Look, I don't mean to be rude but this is not as easy as it looks, so I'd appreciate it if you wouldn't distract me.”

 

“Sorry.” Inigo called and went to practice some more. About 30 seconds later (Inigo was not the most patient of men except when it came to Fezzik) he came back. “I do not suppose you could, uh, speed things up?”

 

“If you're in such a _hurry_ ,” the man answered, “you could lower a tree-branch or a rope or find something useful to do.”

 

Inigo grinned. He liked pragmatic people. “I could do that,” he agreed. “I have some rope right here.  But I do not think you would accept my help, since I am only waiting around here to kill you.”

 

“Well,” the other replied “that does put a damper on our relationship.”

 

“But,” continued Inigo, “I can promise I will not kill you until you reach the top.”

 

There was a pause as the man looked at him. “That's very comforting,” he responded sarcastically, “but I'm afraid you'll just have to wait.”

 

Inigo turned away with a pout. “I hate waiting,” he grumbled. He spun back around quickly. “I could give you my word as a Spaniard.”

 

“No good,” the man grunted, shifting as some loose rock crumbled, “I've known too many Spaniards.”

 

“Is there any way you trust me?”  “Nothing comes to mind.”

 

Inigo's eyes turned deadly serious.  “I swear on the soul of Domingo Montoya, you will reach the top alive.”

 

There was a pause, and then came the terse reply “Throw me the rope.”

 

Inigo hurried to do so, aware that no time was to be lost.  The man grabbed on, and gradually, reached the top.  He murmured his thanks and immediately tried to pull out his sword, but was stopped by Inigo, who said “We'll … we'll wait until you're ready.”  The man nodded and sat down, saying “Again … thank you.”  As he emptied out his boots, Inigo who had sat down opposite him spoke up.

 

“I do not mean to pry, but .. uh .. you don't by any chance happen to have six fingers on your right hand?”

 

The man's green-gray-blue eyes stared at him. “Do you always begin conversations this way?”

 

Inigo shifted uncomfortably. “My father was slaughtered by a six-fingered man.”

 

The man's eyes never left his as he held up his right hand.  Five digits stood out proudly.  Inigo nodded and before he knew it, was telling the man what had happened to his father.  _It would be a shame to kill him_ , Inigo thought, for the man reacted with respect for the skills of his father and the tragedy of what had happened. In other circumstances, they might have been friends. He came over to sit next to the man, finishing with “You see, the problem is – I cannot find him.  It's been twenty years now, I've started to lose confidence.  I just work for Vizzini to pay the bills.  There's not a lot of money in revenge.”  His face unconsciously softened as he spoke his next words. “Now I stay to be with Fezzik.”  “Your boyfriend?” came the quiet question.  He nodded and there was silence. “Well I certainly hope you find him someday,” The man finally got up, unsheathing his sword.

 

“You are ready then?” asked Inigo.  The man shrugged. “Whether I am or not, you've been more than fair.” Inigo nodded. “You seem a decent fellow. I hate to kill you.”  The man smirked at him. “You seem a decent fellow.  I hate to die.”

 

They moved to their positions. “Begin,” said Inigo quietly and the duel began. As the duel commenced, Inigo's heart sang.  This man was a true master of the sword and it was an honor to fight someone such as him.  It turned out neither of them was left-handed and after a neat bit of showmanship from the black-clad man, Inigo stared at him in wonder.  “Who are you?”

 

“No one of consequence,” came the steady reply. He pursued it. “I _must_ know.”

 

With a smile came “Get used to disappointment.” Inigo shrugged. _Oh, well..._ “Okay.”

 

And the fight continued.  It was well fought, but ended with Inigo on his knees disarmed.  “Kill me quickly,” he said dully, feeling a flash of regret that he could not find a way to spare Fezzik the sorrow of learning him dead and thus leaving the gentle giant all alone in the world.

 

“I would sooner destroy a stained glass window than an artist like yourself.  But since I can't have you following me...” the voice trailed off and in the next second was a heavy blow that sent darkness spreading across Inigo's senses as he slumped forward.  From a distance, he heard the voice say “Please understand I hold you in the highest respect.” He did understand, he thought faintly.  He just hoped the man wouldn't hurt Fezzik ….


	4. Dread Pirate Roberts

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The man-in-black faces Fezzik and Vizzini. Meanwhile, Humperdinck and Rugen have started the chase.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's been a long time. I'm sorry!! *cowers as readers throw things* Hopefully, you like, yes? And I will post more soon. I will (yes!)  
> ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Inconceivable!” cried Vizzini as he, Fezzik and James watched the man in black race over the edge of the hill. Fezzik stared, feeling grief clutch at his throat.  Was Inigo dead? No, NO! With effort, he focused on Vizzini, who was talking.

 

“... catch up to us quickly.” Fezzik spoke hoarsely, “What do I do?”

 

“Finish him, finish him – your way!” Vizzini gestured wildly, already leading James away from Fezzik.  “Oh good – my way. Thank you Vizzini,” Fezzik said sarcastically. To himself he murmured, “Now which way is my way?”

 

Vizzini spoke through gritted teeth. “Pick up one of those rocks and hide behind a boulder. Soon, the man-in-black will come running around the bend. The minute his _head_ is in view,” Vizzini finished shouting, “HIT IT WITH THE ROCK!!”

 

As they raced away, Fezzik dully said “My way is not very sportsmanlike.”  He picked up a rock and hid behind a boulder like Vizzini had instructed though.  As he waited for the black-clad man to come into view, Fezzik tried to keep his world from spinning off its axis.  Inigo, oh dear god, Inigo. He couldn't be dead, he couldn't.  “He _promised_ ,” Fezzik whispered, feeling his eyes burn. Maybe, just maybe there was hope.  He would give the man a chance. If he had killed Inigo, there would be no mercy, but if not … well, he didn't want the lad James to get killed. He'd just see what happened.

 

All too quickly, the man-in-black came into view, slowing to a walk.  His eyes scanned for any enemies, and as he took one step closer, Fezzik let the rock fly with precision. It shattered against a large boulder.  He came out from his hiding place, picking up another rock as the man's sword fairly leapt into his hand.

 

“I did that on purpose,” he remarked mildly. “I don't have to miss.”  “I believe you,” the man replied, obviously shaken. “So, what happens now?”

 

“That depends,” Fezzik said coolly. “What did you do with Inigo? Did you ki ..” he broke off and glanced away.  The man tilted his head and stared at him for a moment.  “You must be Fezzik,” he stated. Fezzik's eyes snapped up to the other's, which were now sympathetic. “I didn't kill him. I did leave him unconscious, but I respect him and his skills to much to kill him.” His tone was one of absolute honesty. “I'm after your captive. If I win my fight with you, I wouldn't kill you either. So,” he repeated, “what happens now?”

 

Fezzik nodded, feeling the truth reverberate amongst his bones. Inigo wasn't dead. Relieved, he answered the inquiry. “We face each other as God intended. Sportsmanlike. No tricks, no weapons. Skill against skill alone.”

 

“You mean, you'll put down your rock and I'll put my down my sword and we'll try to kill each other like civilized people?” The man's voice was skeptical. Fezzik grinned and raised the rock slightly. “I could kill you now,” he pointed out.

 

“Frankly,” the man said, setting down his sword, “I think the odds are _slightly_ in your favor at hand-fighting.” “It's not my fault being the biggest and the strongest” Fezzik shrugged, “I don't really even exercise.” The rock was tossed to the side.

 

They stared at each other for a few seconds and then the man raced down to slam against Fezzik. Letting out a groan of pain, he backed off slightly while rubbing his shoulder.  They circled each other some more, then the man ran to lock his arms around Fezzik.  Fezzik merely stood there, smiling down at the other as he used his energy.  The man again backed off and spoke, annoyed.

 

“Look, are you just fiddling around with me or what?”

 

“I just want you to feel you're doing well,” he said smiling. “I hate for people to die embarrassed.” He reached for the other and the man tumbled forward, rolling through Fezzik's legs to pop up behind him. “You're quick!” Fezzik said. “A good thing too,” the man replied. “Why are you wearing a mask?” Fezzik asked curiously, as he stalked forward. “Were you burned with acid or something like that?”  As the man ducked his swings, he replied “No. It's just they're terribly comfortable. I think everyone will be wearing them in the future.” And with that, he ran up a boulder and jumped on Fezzik's back, his arms around the giant's neck.

 

Fezzik stumbled slightly, his arms trying to dislodge the other. “I just figured,” he choked out, “why you give me so much trouble.”  He slammed the other into a rock. “Why is that,” the wheezed voice inquired, “do you think?”  Fezzik staggered around as he replied, his fingers scrambling to remove the obstruction on his windpipe. “I haven't fought just one person for so long. I've been specializing in groups. Battling gangs for local charities, that kind of thing.” “Why should that make such an – Oof! - difference?” the man continued.

 

“Well, you see,” Fezzik continued, stars starting to appear over his vision, falling to his knees. “You use different moves when you're fighting half a dozen people,” his senses were dimming and his hands went to the ground, “then when you only have to be worried about one.” And he was out.  The man removed himself from Fezzik's back and with a fair amount of exertion, managed to turn him over and listen to his heart. Raising his head he stared down at the unconscious face of the kind giant.

 

“I do not envy you the headache you will have when you awake,” he said quietly. “In the meantime, rest well and dream of your reunion with Inigo.”  So saying, he snatched up his sword and continued his pursuit.

 

AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA

 

Meanwhile, Prince Humperdinck traced the footsteps of the man's duel with Inigo. “There was,” he said, spinning around, “a mighty duel.” He continued tracking. “It ranged all over.”

 

“Who won?” came the silky voice of Count Rugen, his best friend. “How did it end?” His eyes were sparkling slightly. Only the two of them knew Humperdinck was behind the James' kidnapping in the first place and it a shared secret as they played the charade for the guards with them. They had not counted on someone else trying to find the princess, however.

 

“The loser ran off alone,” continued Humperdinck, “while the winner … followed those footprints toward Guilder.” “Shall we track them both?” Rugen asked. Humperdinck turned to gaze up at his friend with large brown eyes. “The loser is nothing. Only the prince matters.” As he exclaimed to the guards, Rugen bit down on the familiar bitter ache in his chest. _Yes. Only the prince matters_. His blue eyes regarded his prince as he jumped back into his saddle. “Could this be a trap?” He murmured to the other. “I always think everything could be a trap,” Humperdinck replied, smirking. “Which is why I'm still alive.” And they continued to track prince James.

 

!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

 

The man-in-black raced over the edge of the hill with sword drawn, slowing as he beheld the sight in front of him. Sitting on some rocks in front of a large boulder were Vizzini and James. James' bound hands rested on his knees, while brown lock tumbled merrily around the white blindfold covering his blue eyes.  A dagger's point rested against his still throat, held by the leader of the small gang, who smiled congenially. “So, it is down to you and it is down to me.” He reached for one of the two goblets of wine sitting on the boulder with some fruit, taking a sip.

 

The man started forward again carefully. Vizzini continued, “If you wish him dead, by all means – keep moving forward.”  He stopped, and then took a step. “Let me explain.” “There's nothing to explain” Vizzini said flatly. “You're trying to kidnap what I've rightfully stolen.”  “Perhaps,” the man said, taking more steps forward, “an arrangement could be reached?” “There will be no arrangement,” Vizzini hissed, grabbing a coral-clad arm, “and you're killing him.”  James inhaled as the dagger's point pushed slightly into the skin, frightened as he could only listen.  The other man's voice seemed strangely familiar, though the thought faded as the footsteps stopped.

 

“Well,” continued the accented voice, “if there can be no arrangement, then we are at an impasse.”

 

“I'm afraid so,” agreed Vizzini. “I can't compete with you physically, and you're no match for my brains.”

 

“You're that smart,” the man requested, amused. “Let me put it this way,” Vizzini answered. “Have you ever heard of Plato, Aristotle, Socrates?” “Yes,” came the reply. “Morons.” “Really?” came the voice again. “In that case, I challenge you to a battle of wits.”  “For the prince,” Vizzini asked. A nod. “To the _death_?” Another nod. “I accept,” Vizzini cried, tucking away his dagger. “Good,” said the man coming forward. “Then pour the wine.”

 

As Vizzini poured the wine, the man sat down on a tree branch.  After Vizzini finished, the man took out a small hollowed wooden container. Uncorking it, he held it out to Vizzini. “Inhale this, but do do not touch.” Vizzini did as told, and let out a derisive snort. “I smell nothing.” “What you do not smell,” the other said, “is called iocane powder. It is odorless, tasteless, dissolves instantly in liquid and is among the more deadly poisons known to man.” Vizzini wore an amused expression. The man then took both cups and hid them from Vizzini's view as he did something with the powder.

 

Putting the cups back on the table, the man explained the rules.  “All right. Where is the poison? The battle of wits has begun. It ends when you decide, and we both drink and find out who is right … and who is dead.”

 

“But it's so simple,” Vizzini calmly stated. “All I have to do is divine from what I know of you – are you the sort of man who would put the poison into his own goblet's or into his enemies? A clever man would put the poison into his own goblet because he knows that only a great fool would reach for what he is given. I am not a great fool, so I can clearly not choose the wine in front of you. But,” he said continuing, “you must have known I was not a great fool. You would have counted on it, so I can clearly not choose the wine in front of me.”  He paused to look smugly at the other man. The man smiled. “You've made your decision, then?” “Not remotely!”

 

Vizzini proceeded to explain his reasoning to the man-in-black. As he did, the man reflected on what he was feeling. Desire, hurt, betrayed, fond, protective.  A large mix of emotions swirled inside him and with effort, he pushed it down.  His head snapped around at the other's cry of “... I choose … what in the world can that be?” “What? Where? I don't see anything.”  “I could have sworn I saw something,” Vizzini snickered. “What's so funny?” The man asked suspiciously. “I'll tell you in a minute,” Vizzini said, “First let's drink. Me from my glass and you from yours.”  They slowly raised their glasses and drank. After he set it down, the man spoke with a smile. “You chose wrong.”

 

“You only think I guessed wrong! That's what's so funny!” Vizzini chortled. “I switched the glasses when your back was turned. You fool!”  James raised his head slightly, feeling panic flash through him.  For some strange reason, he didn't want the man-in-black to die. Vizzini continued, “You fell victim to one of the classic blunders.  The most famous is 'Never get involved in a land war in Asia.' But only slightly less well known is this – 'Never go in against a Sicilian (which Vizzini is not) when death is on the line.'”  He started to laugh and after three or four chortles, fell down dead.

 

The man stared at the body for a second and then went around to James, who was still blindfolded. Kneeling down, he carefully removed the blindfold, unable to keep himself from smoothing back some curls from James' forehead. As he set to work on James' hands and feet, James stared at him, feeling strangely vulnerable. “Who are you?” “No one of consequence,” came the curt reply. “That is all you ever need know.”

 

James turned to look at Vizzini's corpse. “And to think,” he said quietly, “all that time, it was your cup that was poisoned.”  “They were both poisoned,” replied the man-in-black, pulling James upright. “I spent the last few years building up an immunity to iocane powder.”  And he led James off.

 

PPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPP

 

Kneeling by the large impression in the ground, Humperdinck spoke with authority. “Someone has beaten the giant.” Standing, he made a graceful figure as he commanded, “There will be great suffering in Guilder if she dies.” Jumping onto his horse, the company continued riding.

 

MMMMMMMMMMMMMMMM

 

The man stopped racing with James over the land, tossing him onto a boulder, as he said “Catch your breath.”

 

“If you'll release me,” James called towards the black-clad man, “whatever you ask for ransom, you'll get it. I promise you.”

 

The man laughed bitterly. “And what is that worth – the promise of a _boy_? You're very funny, Highness.”  James felt obscurely hurt, though he didn't quite understand why. The slur of being called a boy? He lifted his head. “I was giving you a chance,” he said coolly. “It does not matter where you take me, there is no greater hunter than Prince Humperdinck. He can track a falcon on a cloudy day. He can find you!”

 

The man-in-black spoke calmly. “You think your dearest love will save you?”  James furrowed his brow in confusion. “I never said he was my dearest love. But, yes, he will save me. That I know.”

 

The man pushed off his perch and moved steadily towards James. “You admit to me you do not love your fiancé.”  “He knows I do not love him,” James said as the man stopped in front of him.”

 

“Are not capable of love is what you mean,” the man spat out.  James stood slowly, feeling rage kindle under his bones, and spark along his nerves.  What did this killer know of love? He never saw Michael and James interact, he couldn't possibly know about James capability for love.  “I have loved  more deeply,” he said roughly, “than a killer like yourself could ever dream.”

 

The man's arm flew up and James flinched, his eyes squeezing shut as he braced himself for impact.  The man stopped, unable to actually strike the other.  He instead pointed at him. “That was a warning, Highness. The next time, my hand flies on it's own. Where I come from,” he finished as James turned to stare at him in astonishment, “there are penalties when someone lies.” And he grabbed James' hand roughly and started across the landscape again.

 

RRRRRRRRRRRRR

 

Humperdinck sniffed at the small container. “Iocane. I'd bet my life on it and there are the prince's footprints.” He pointed as he remarked, “He is alive or was an hour ago. If she is otherwise when I find her, I shall be very put out.” And they rode off.

 

JMJMJMJMJMJMJM

 

“Rest, Highness.” The man helped James onto another boulder. “I know who you are,” James exclaimed. “Your cruelty reveals everything. You're the Dread Pirate Roberts. Admit it.”

 

“With pride,” the man said with a flourishing bow. “What can I do for you?”

 

James glared. “You can die slowly,” he said with venom, “cut into a thousand pieces.”  The man shook his head solemnly, tutting. “Hardly complimentary, Your Highness. Why loose your venom on me?” His eyes gazed at James.  “You killed my love,” James said coldly. “It's possible,” the man agreed. “I kill a lot of people. Who was this love of yours?” He continued, walking past James to sit on a tree-branch. “Another prince like this one – ugly, rich, and scabby?”

 

“No!” James snapped, turning to look at him. “A farm boy, poor. Poor and perfect,” he continued turning to gaze into the distance, missing the wistful green-gray gaze of the other man, sitting silent. “With eyes like the sea after a storm.”  He turned his eyes back on the man. “On the high seas, your ship attacked. And the Dread Pirate Roberts never takes prisoners.”

 

The man gestured with his hands before lacing them behind his back. “I can't afford to make _exceptions._   Once word leaks out that a pirate's gone soft, people begin to disobey you and then it's nothing but work, work, work all the time.”

“You mock my pain!” shouted James. “Life is pain, Highness” the man shouted back. He continued calmly, “Anyone who says differently is selling something.”  James gazed at him, hurt in his eyes before turning to stare out at the horizon.  The man stood up slowly, feeling his chest ache. “I remember this farm boy of yours, I think. This would be what, five years ago?” Now standing next to James, he glanced down at him. “Does it bother you to hear?”

 

James stared out, feeling his eyes burn with imminent tear that he ruthlessly forced back. “Nothing you can say will upset me,” he said softly. “He died well,” the other started, crossing his arms and walking up to the edge of the steep hill. “That should please you. No bribe attempts or blubbering. He simply said _Please, please I need to live_.” With his back to him, he missed James looking down and swallowing hard. “It was the please that caught my memory. I asked him what was so important.” Turning around, he continued “ _True love_ , he replied.”

 

James looked up, bluebird eyes filled with unshed tears. His gaze locked with the other man's and something passed between them, a shared sorrow. The man broke it and started walking back toward James. “Then he spoke of a boy of surpassing beauty and faithfulness. I can only assume,” gesturing to James, “he meant you. You should bless me for destroying him before he found out what you really are.”

 

This was too much and James stood up abruptly. “And what am I?” he asked.  “Faithfulness, he talked of sir,” the man said savagely to him, “your enduring faithfulness.  Tell me truly. When you found out he was gone, did you get engaged to your prince that same hour or did you wait a whole week out of respect for the dead?”

 

James' eyes widened with rage. “You mocked me once. Never do it again! I died that day!” His voice was raw and anguished, all the remembered grief pouring through. There was a horn sounded and the man turned to look at Prince Humperdinck and his entourage riding along the opposite side of the valley. Fury still flooding his veins, James pushed the man over the edge, muttering, “You can die too for all I care!”

 

Rolling down the hill, the man said the only thing he could think of. “As … you … wish!”

 

James stared down, feeling everything, all the small niggling pieces click into place. “Oh my God, Michael,” he whispered, feeling shaken. “What have I done?”

 

And he threw himself after Michael down the hill.


End file.
